The Passage of Pages
by lost.long.ago
Summary: Myka Bering's world is one of people, not artifacts, imbued with incredible power. A professor at Xavier's School for Higher Learning, she lives to work alongside her fellow X-Men to maintain the peace between mutants and humans. But when ancient forces reawaken, and a woman from the past with a power yet unheard of appears on the scene, Myka's logical world begins to crumble.
1. Chapter 1

_I began writing a collegiate fluffy-angst story…thing... and then began to think about what sort of school it was set in. It was thus I came to decide to turn it into this as things simply seemed to fit. I mean, who can't see Mrs. Fredric being some sort of badass-with-the-power-of-death-stare and mysterious head-mistress after Xavier? Not to mention Shawn and Aaron Ashmore… So, now it is a romantic development with an actual plot; yay for plots!  
_

_This is not an X-Men buff writing this, but the story is completely AU anyways, set several years after the more traditional team perished or something like that. So, if things are out of whack, suck it up!_

* * *

"Some would ask why study the works of a playwright who's been dead for five centuries. What use could something so outdated be?" Newly appointed Professor Myka Bering paced the wooden floor of the lecture hall, staring up into the eyes of nearly two-hundred young men and women, girls and boys. Her energetic steps mirrored the urgent intensity of her words. "Something so unrelatable? We live in a world where one can pull a device from their pocket and connect to any location in the world. An era in which disease is nearly non-existent. We live in the midst of human evolution, a scientific progression that wouldn't even be theorized until three hundred years after such a playwright's death!

"How are we to take the words of a man who lived in a time where to go ten miles from your home was an impressive journey for most? What can we gain from a man whose society still supported slavery? From a time of peasants who lived with backs bowed under the weight of tyrants? When women were bereft so many civil rights? " She came to an abrupt halt on the lecture stage's right edge, standing in a pool of sunlight. Her gaze followed the trail of rays upward to the large glass windows lodged at the top of the white walls, just shy of where they met the ceiling.

"While societies may grow and change, human nature remains much the same. We are plagued by the doubts of Hamlet. By the sorrows of Tennyson. By the love songs of Rilke. We experience the emotions of men and women who lived thousands of years before us, and wage the same battles for understanding and-"

_Myka, you're needed. Report immediately, as you are._

The voice, echoing inside her skull, stopped her in midsentence.

_I'll be there shortly._

"And," she picked up, adjusting her glasses. "And I'm afraid I must end our first class together early. However, let me leave you with this. Today, all of you gifted young individuals, deemed mutants by your race, still battle against an oppression not so unlike that which mistreated people of certain race, of certain gender, and of certain sexual orientation have battled for centuries. Through time, we are all joined in a struggle to survive, understand, and enjoy what it means to be human. This semester we will explore these connections in the writings of figures separated from us through time, and you will find just how strongly related we all, as humans, are… You are dismissed."

The silence shattered as students flipped down their desks and began hustling out of the lecture hall through the large double doors. She watched for a moment before ducking out the private lecturer door.

The wood-paneled halls of Xavier's School for Higher Learning sat more or less empty despite it being the first day of fall semester. Most students and their professors still sat locked away behind classroom doors, beginning what would be several months of academic reprieve from the outside world.

But she had little time to think of it. Myka's walk turned into a run as she moved through the space, making her way to a stainless steel elevator. She scanned her finger print for verification and hit 'B2.' A moment later, the doors opened and she stepped out.

Gleaming white and built of arched walls, the halls of the lower levels gave the impression she'd entered into a different world, separate from the collegiate atmosphere that rested just a few tens of meters above. She passed doors and offshoots, navigating the maze at a break-neck sprint with the sureness of one who'd walked it many times over.

Though, being graced with an eidetic memory certainly helped things along.

At last she arrived at the door she needed. It swooshed open before her, revealing a cavernous room of a size rivaling some stadiums. Filling the center of it was the reason for the room's immensity: a sleek, black aircraft that looked as if it had been torn straight off the page of one of those sci-fi comic books Pete and Claudia wer always reading. Blackbird 2.0, as they'd named it, beckoned to her, its docking clamps already undone.

"Mykes! C'mon! Artie's briefing us on the way!" Pete called over the quiet hum of the engines. Standing in the cockpit's darkened entrance with one hand propped on the top of the doorway, he waved her up the ramp.

She ran towards him, augmenting her speed via her telekinetic powers. "What about our uniforms?"

"No spandex this time. We're going civilian." He stepped aside and activated the door as soon as she was in. It slid shut with a hiss. "Ready for takeoff! Let's go!"

"Got it," Todd Funk called from the pilot's seat. He was young for the team, too young in Myka's book. But, the 19-year-old, gifted with technology and imbued with the power of abnormal reaction time, had been an obvious match for the recently vacated position of Blackbird pilot.

"Hey Myka! Pumped for The Ghost?" Red-headed-spitfire-bundled-in-a-twig-thin-package Claudia Donovan leapt out of the co-pilot seat and followed her teammates into a compartment lined with seats on each side.

"The Ghost? We've pinged him?" Myka asked incredulously as she took grabbed a Tesla stun-gun from the rack, tucking it in the back of the waistline of her black skinny jeans. She moved to a seat and strapped herself in next to Pete. "Steve, Leena" she acknowledged the tall blond man and short dark-skinned woman already seated across from her. They smiled back; Leena gave a short wave.

"Yes. Yes we have," her question was finally answered.

Myka turned her head to find Arthur Neilson step in from command center in the rear cargo bay. The short, grizzled old man, director of the X-Men field team, clambered into a padded seat at the end of the other row. "Claudia. Seatbelt."

The young woman grumbled and pulled the four-point harness over her shoulders, snapping them into place at her chest.

"Mrs. Fredric and Cerebra," he continued, "picked up his signature. We've tracked him to a suburban house in Chicago."

Pete leaned against his belt, groping under the seat. "What's the game plan?" He came up with a bottle of water and held it out to Steve, an asking expression on his face. The other man rolled his eyes before reaching to take it in his palm. When he returned it to Pete a second later, ice crystals clung to the bottle, clouding the transparent surface.

Artie eyed the exchange. "You're going to wrap this up _peacefully._ Mrs. Fredric wants The Ghost caught, not harmed. We want to convince him to come with us. Force is a last resort, and only because we can't afford to let him keep running around the world. We don't want to scare him into accepting any deal MacPherson would offer if MacPherson were to find The Ghost after this encounter."

"Well, I don't know about you guys, but I kinda like the idea of a kick-ass superhero running around, busting haters, murderers, and child-abusers and then pawning them over to the po-po," Claudia piped in.

"And that," Artie replied, "is why you're running comm from the cargo bay with me. Leena and Myka will head the effort as they're most qualified by their talents. Steve, you'll go with as backup. Pete, watch from outside. He'll be in house 209."

Claudia groaned. "I say what everybody's thinking and get to bite the bullet for it." Her eyes clouded a little in disappointment, the air rolling around her.

Myka looked at her sympathetically. If her book that had judged Todd was fair, it read that Claudia was too young for missions as well. But, working together, Myka had found the 18-year-old to be an astonishingly capable handler as well as a field-agent of limitless potential. Yet, occasionally, her untempered youth would shine through.

"We can't let him run around playing judge, jury, and executioner Claudia," Myka tried to explain. "No matter how righteous it seems. It's only a step away from McPherson."

The redhead looked like she was about to argue when Artie cut her off. "We can argue the finer points of philosophy _after_ he's in our custody."

Pete nodded. "No way is he slipping away this time."

Loose buckles in and hanging cargo straps swayed as the jet began to slow and drop to a lower altitude.

"Dropping you in the backyard across the street." Todd yelled from the cockpit. "Doors open in three!"

Myka her hands on the safety-harness buckle, preparing to undo it.

"Two!"

Across from her, Leena nodded, signaling for Myka to take point.

"One! Go!"

With a flick of her thumb, the restraints fell apart. Before they hit the ground, she was already bolting toward the door. With little more than a quick glance out, she jumped and hit the ground running. Rounding the corner of the house, the street came into sight. She slowed as grass turned to asphalt beneath her work-boots. Leena and Steve pulled up beside her, matching her pace as they walked quickly towards their target. The neighborhood was dead, the children at school and the adults at work. Opening her mind in preparation, she sensed Pete pass them, marking his location despite his talent for invisibility.

209 was your ordinary 1960s American dream with a slight modern touch– the white picket fence, the porch with a wooden swinging bench, the good ol' stars and stripes flapping gently on the breeze from a short pole nestled in a bracket beside the front steps.

But the psychic profile of it was… something else. She could feel the thin, acrid shadow of anguish emanating from within, hinting of pain. Terrible things had happened here in the recent past. And now, more were being done inside, but to the source. Myka might have questioned the truth of what she'd told Claudia mere minutes ago had she the time to.

"There are two people inside," Leena whispered as they climbed the wooden steps to the porch.

The white-washed floorboards creaked in protest at their weight, making Myka cringe as she nodded her agreement. She reached out for the silver door knob. It turned easily and the front door swung open, revealing a small hallway with shattered glass scattered across its hardwood floor. Amidst the shards were the crushed stems of several beaten, red lilies.

Something was definitely going down. Muffled words colored with controlled rage drifted from another room. The glass crunched beneath her soles as she entered, gesturing for the other two to follow suit.

The hallway opened into a large kitchen. Stone tiled floors and roomy atmosphere decked with sparkling, new appliances spoke of wealth just as the scattered chairs lying on their sides spoke of a scuffle. Moving along the wall, she neared a doorless opening into what was presumably the living room, a corner of a leather couch peeking through the opening.

"Did you enjoy her helplessness? Her innocence and the way you bereaved her of it? You sick bastard!"

A hard thump sounded from the room, followed by a sharp groan.

"Seven years old. Did it make you feel like a man?" Another thud, this time with a weak cry of pain.

"Please… I'll never touch her again. I leave, and pay child support from the other side of the country, or whatever you want. Just… just…"

Myka peered around the corner just in time to witness a lithe figure slam a well-executed kick into the stomach of a man who sat bowed over on his knees. The blinds were pulled, layering the room in shadows with only the weak glow of what little light could sneak in from the windows. She caught a glimpse of the man's hands zip-tied behind his back as he begged, his face pressing against the carpet.

"Well, I didn't expect the police to arrive so quickly," the same voice called out, making a sudden switch from anger to almost whimsical nonchalance in its British accent. "I always have to call. I almost ought to call you bunch competent, if only you'd caught this bloody bastard earlier. Step out where I can see you, all of you, and perhaps I won't kill him."

The brunette froze, her cover clearly blown. But that voice… this didn't make sense. Yet, there was no time to think. "I'm coming out." Raising her open palms, she stepped around the corner. Leena followed suit.

The Ghost… was a woman?

A whip-thin woman, standing fifteen feet in front of her with raven-hair framing her pale face, in fact. Dark eyes roved Myka's body, measuring, and then moved to Leena's.

The Ghost finally snorted. "Well, you most certainly are not the authorities. I guess that explains the competence." She stepped back from the man, now pointing the gun at Myka. "It was lovely meeting you, but, I'm afraid I quite nearly forgot the time. I don't suppose you and your friend still hiding around the corner could call the police and tell them I've found them another child rapist, could you?" she took another step. "Ta ta."

Grabbing for her Tesla, that's when Myka felt it. The world around her began to shift and ripple, her body aching as if she were being compressed and pulled apart all at once - as if she'd been thrown into a garbage compactor, yet was being simultaneously stretched apart like a scrap of chewed gum.

Her powers. She couldn't move, but she could still use her powers. The fear of losing control argued yelled out against the idea. Countering whatever was going on would take a significant amount of effort, too much of which would jeopardize her carefully maintained balance. She could lose more than control – she could lose herself. Such was the nature of strength.

Yet, there seemed little choice. She began cutting holes in her carefully constructed walls, incisions in her mental barriers. Closing her eyes, she reached out to The Ghost, hoping for a hint of what exactly it was the mysterious woman was capable of so that she might counter it.

_Time._

Eyes closed, she willed herself to match whatever it was The Ghost was doing to the world around them, trying to maintain a bridge between the two of them and yet firmly grasp her own sense of self while the torrent of power raged its course through her veins. She could feel ripples in space flowing around her, battering and assaulting as she tried to manipulate them to match The Ghost's pace. It overwhelmed, and it was just as she felt as if she might be slipping that all of the pieces fell into place.

"Well, you're something special."

Myka's eyes opened to gaping maw of a Berretta, the barrel's opening now no more than perhaps a meter and a half away and angled for her chest.

The Ghost eyed her warily, all air of playful cockiness gone from her features and voice. "Don't. Move."

Myka hadn't really been planning on it; the cocked gun aimed at her heart had done a rather good job of convincing her not to. Though, when she considered it, stopping the bullet probably wouldn't be all that difficult. Her eyes darted to Leena. The shorter woman stood frozen in place, completely still- not even a hair drifting out of place or a shudder as she drew breath. Nothing.

Her gaze moved to the hands of a wooden clock hanging on the wall. The hands sat limp, unmoving, though its face rippled as if composed of some unstable semi-liquid.

"So, are you another hunter, strapped with some advanced device you've worked up to counter my sort?" the dark eyed woman questioned almost rhetorically.

"Hunter?" Myka repeated carefully, uncertain of where she stood. She could feel the woman's rage bending towards her.

"Oh, come off it. I suppose it was too much to hope the Black Diamond had fallen apart in the past century," she scoffed.

Myka tried to make sense of it. The Black Diamond - the Brotherhood of the Black Diamond. A cult of murders, of men dedicated to the eradication of "demons," or rather, the earliest appearances of human mutation. The group was little more than legend, a whisper of an evil that had perhaps existed centuries ago and since petered out of being. It was myth.

The Ghost had confused even Mrs. Frederic with her ability to jump in and out of Cerebra's detection; to be there one moment, gone the next, and then appear days later as if she'd never been left. All had been left wondering how an adult mutant who registered so powerfully could have escaped detection in childhood. And now it almost made sense. If the woman was speaking of centuries, then maybe…

"We're manipulating time," Myka whispered her thought in wonder.

The Ghost's expression became one of wary curiosity. "You only just gathered as much?" It wasn't a jibe, but rather an honest inquiry as if the gun-wielder was struggling to figure Myka out just as Myka was the gun-wielder. Yet, the firearm's barrel didn't lower.

"Yes." Myka made herself hold the other woman's gaze. "I'm Myka Bering, and my friends and I are just like you."

"Oh? And how might that be?"

"We're different." Myka almost smiled at the paradox. "Leena," she gestured at her frozen friend, "can read certain types of Chi – can read emotional and life energy and sometimes even manipulate it," she tried to explain. "My friend around the corner can sap heat energy from his surroundings and manipulate water molecules."

"And you?" The Ghost prodded.

"I… I have a range of talents, such as telekinesis and telepathy," she fumbled. Not even Mrs. Fredric was quite certain of just how far Myka's powers spanned, but those two were certainly the most exercised of her repertoire. "I tried to match your manipulations of space and energy... I didn't realize what it would lead to."

The other woman was staring at her with a strange energy in her eyes. Myka hoped it was favorable.

"Then who do you lot work for? I know better than to think you simply stumbled in here just moments after I myself did. What is it you want?"

The brunette realized she was being given a chance, and knew it could not be wasted. "We belong to a secret organization of people like us," Myka explained quickly. "Like you and me; people call us mutants. We manage a school for 'mutant' children who have little place else to go; we offer sanctuary for adults, as well as provide a political front for pro-mutant support. We track down what others would call misfits and protect them. We would like you to come back with us."

"And I don't suppose this offer has anything to do with my… activities, as of late?" The Brit's sarcasm didn't go unnoticed.

Myka cringed at the question. She'd been hoping to avoid this part. Her explanation could not afford to raise this woman's defenses.

"You're 'activities,' have been fueling some anti-mutant campaigns. Mutants are just people. We have to abide by certain laws, too." She looked openly at the beaten man, frozen in mid-collapse on the floor. "I know what he does is wrong; it's sickening. But the way you're going about solving it is hurting others. I don't know what drove you to this, but we'd like to help you, to incorporate you in our fold. You want to make a difference. We can give you the proper channels."

The indecision rolling off the pale woman was overwhelming. Myka knew she had her almost convinced, could feel the bonds of trust quite nearly solidified. It was so close…

But The Ghost shook her head. "Too perfect. I don't know what you are or who you are, but I do know that I don't care for the rules of the close-minded, or what I've seen of this time period, or whatever organization you truly work for."

Myka's stomach plummeted as the dark-haired woman continued. She knew where this was leading, and didn't want it to. A black rift began to form beside The Ghost, space and matter contorting around it to make room, as if the gaping hole wasn't quite on their same plane of existence. A portal, perhaps. Myka could almost feel the atomic particles around it behaving eratically.

"I'm must deny your offer. Whatever weapon you're holding, draw it slowly and drop it."

Myka held out her open hand, trying to stall. Either she'd have to apprehend the woman now, or follow her through whatever sort of rift was forming. "Please… I don't know your name, but please don't do this."

"Now."

Myka complied, slowly drawing out the strange, glass-and-brass contraption that was her Tesla. It slid free of her waistline, and she held it out beside her, pointing towards the wall.

Rather than trying to disappear, as Myka had expected and been preparing to prevent, The Ghost stared at the weapon, her eyes widening into pools of surprise and recognition one moment only to narrow into suspicion upon the next. "Is that… where did you get that?"

Myka set it gently on the floor. "A Tesla gun, developed by one of my organization's fore-fathers," she tried to explain.

"Oh, Nikolai," The Ghost murmured. "You always spoke of…"

Myka's breath caught in surprise. The way she'd said the name sounded almost… reverent. Familiar. As if this woman had known the man.

The Brit's eyes moved from the object to Myka's gaze, searching, weighing. "You've never known you could time travel? You only just now figured it out?"

Myka nodded.

"You must be talented to have picked it up so quickly - rather powerful." It sounded almost like a compliment.

The X-Woman didn't answer, unmoving in The Ghost's gaze. Myka could almost see a conclusion being assembled behind the powerful stare.

And then, the Berretta swung away. The brunette watched as the clip was removed, the chamber unloaded, and the safety flicked on with unpracticed but precise motions. Myka finally let her arms lower to her sides.

"I've never much liked guns." The Ghost strode towards her, and Myka held her breath, unsure of what exactly to expect. For the first time, she was able to get a clear look at the figure they'd been chasing for months. The dim light glinted off of delicately chiseled features and was swallowed completely by nearly black eyes. The orbs seemed to absorb all the energy of those rays and store them away, such was the intensity of their look. The intelligence of it.

Her observations were interrupted as a hand pushed the unloaded weapon against her chest. Myka brought up a palm and caught it despite her surprise. As The Ghost let go, instead of retracting her hand, she held it out between them. Myka watched it before meeting The Ghost's eyes once more. Still off balance from the turn of events, she stared dumbly for a moment before clasping the hand with her own.

"It is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Ms. Myka Bering. I would be happy to accompany you," The Ghost spoke seriously. As she did, the black crevice began to shrink behind her. "I hope we will be able to put this… meeting at gun-point behind us."

"Yes. Okay. So," Myka stumbled for words. "Um. Yeah. I guess we should probably, you know, return to time to normal?" Things had worked out unbelievably well; really, she was having a difficult time not looking a gift-horse in the mouth, but did her best.

"Of course."

And in the blink of an eye, the clock hands were spinning once more, the air moving through Leena's lungs, and all the furniture no longer rippling.

"Woah!" Leena jumped back as she spotted her partner shaking hands with the Ghost, when only a split second before the latter had been holding Myka at gunpoint from across the room.

Steve jumped into the doorway. "Nobody move!" He held his Tesla before him, aiming it towards the time-shifter.

Myka stepped between them, shielding the shorter woman with her body. She would not let any hasty mistakes ruin the agreement they'd come to. "It's all right. She'll come with us." As soon as Steve lowered the weapon Myka gestured for him to lead the way out.

"What do we do with him?" Leena asked, pointing to the beaten man. The way the dark-skinned woman - the epitome of compassion - looked at the him so harshly… Myka had no doubt that he was indeed scum. He had toppled over onto his side and now lay there, softly moaning.

"We'll tip the police when we're clear. Let's not keep Blackbird waiting out there." She noticed the Brit tense. "Blackbird is our airplane," she explained.

"Ah." The nervousness glinting in the Brit's eyes immediately morphed into anticipation. Myka noted the change curiously as she ushered the team back out onto the street.

Pete appeared standing in the middle of the vacant street as they stepped clear of the property. "Hey, where's the Ghost and who is this pretty lady?" he asked, walking backwards in front of them and eyeing the Brit up.

Myka ignored the question. "Did evac contact you?"

He shook his head.

"Call them."

"You could just-"

She gave him a hard look even though she knew he was only teasing.

"-just _not _use your brainy powers while I use the Farnsworth and call them in," he finished. He pulled out the small device and flipped it open. "Hey, Claud, we're ready for pick up. Insertion point work?"

"Yep, we're there," came the muffled response.

They rounded the house across from 209 in time to see a doorway appear in what had looked to be empty space. The ships cloaking abilities never failed to astound. Claudia stood in entrance, waving them aboard and standing aside to make room.

Myka leapt up first and immediately turned to help the others - Leena, Steve, and then their hesitant new acquaintance. It wasn't fear, but Myka didn't know what else it could be. "It's all right," she tried to reassure. The Brit looked at her for a moment and nodded, taking Myka's hand and letting herself be pulled up. As soon as Pete was inside, she activated the door controls. "Doors are closed," she shouted to Todd.

The plane hummed and began to lift. The Ghost stumbled at the change and Myka grabbed her forearm. The brunette guided her into the first seat on the right before helping her with the safety harness.

"I've heard of these _aeroplanes_," The Ghost said absently, gaze moving over the interior of the jet, soaking in every detail before returning to Myka as the brunette buckled the Brit in and moved on to the seat beside her. The word rolled off her tongue like it was something completely foreign.

Myka regarded the woman strangely as she belted herself in. "Heard of-"

"Any complications?" Artie cut in as he ducked in from the rear cargo bay.

"None. Everything went smoothly. We need to tip the police," she answered.

"Done. So, this is The Ghost?"

"The Ghost?" The woman in question looked to Myka for an answer.

"That's what we've been calling you, since we didn't have a name."

Claudia leaned forward in her seat, staring at the newcomer with wide eyes. "The Ghost is a chick? Oh holy batsignal!"

"A smokin' chick at that."

Myka shot Pete a look that said, "Really?"

But the Brit just smiled at their enthusiasm, even though she didn't get the references or language.

"Do you have a name?" Artie interrupted, tone unphased and lacking any scrap of diplomacy as per the usual.

"Helena. Helena G. Wells," the Brit answered, ignoring the unwelcoming demeanor of the older man.

"Wow, like HG Wells? That guy who wrote _The Time Traveler?_" Pete asked brightly.

"_The Time Machine_," Myka and Helena both corrected simultaneously. Myka's eyes met those of their new acquaintance in startled surprise.

The Brit grinned in delight. "So my works have survived the years-"

"Hold up. You're saying that you're _the_ HG Wells? Like, the father of the modern science fiction genre?" Claudia questioned.

"_Father?_" the Brit repeated, frowning in distaste. "Oh, damn it. Well, I suppose being credited with genre is something, but still… "

"You're telling us that you're the _The Island of Doctor Moreau_ HG Wells?" Myka interrupted skeptically, struggling with the mere idea of one of her childhood idols and favorite authors not being anything like the man she imagined him to be. Or rather, not being a man at all. Not that Myka had anything against the idea of HG Wells being a woman – quite the contrary. It was just too surreal; she had imagined herself meeting many literary figures in her daydreams – what she'd say and what they would be like. But here, to have her dreams and expectations, her memories of old photographs and imaginings shattered... it had to be impossible. "But that was written by a man who died yea-"

"Charles?" Helena scoffed. "My brother most certainly did not have half the wit required to write the simplest of children's book. One could hardly get a half-decent, coherent sentence out of him. He did, however, have a manhood, which I most cleverly used to get my stories published and taken seriously." The black-haired woman paused in thought. "Though, if everybody still credits my works to his name, I suppose it may not have been so clever after all… how could he do this to me? To never credit his sister, the true author, not even on his death bed? I wou-"

Helena rambled on, and Myka stared in wonder until she felt Artie's eyes on her. Prying her gaze away, she turned to meet them. The grizzled older man didn't need her telepathic powers to know what she was thinking.

The Ghost, it seemed, was far more than they'd bargained for.

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_I have a terrible track record when it comes to finishing stories. However, I __already __have __beaten out nearly half of this one . Said half merely needs editing and such, so expect weekly or perhaps bi-weekly updates? Hopefully..._

_On a final note, reviews are most welcome, as are any criticisms. Actually, they are quite desirable - they make my day, so fork 'em over!  
_


	2. Chp 2 - Just That Time of Year

_AN: This chapter it pretty slow... that's part of the reason I posted it a few days late and that it's shorter. I'm not a huge fan of it, but it's a transition to all the action and establishes a number of things that will become rather important later. Also, it explains their mutant powers a bit more, which someone was a touch confused about... if you still don't understand somethings, keep calm and carry on. All will be revealed! Suspense and all that jazz...  
_

_Anyways, thank you for all the lovely reviews! I typically reply to them but have been strapped for time as of late._

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Helena's first aeroplane ride was far shorter than she would have predicted it would, not to mention far less professional.

The time-traveler hadn't truly known what to expect, but none of her imaginings as she took the brunette's, Myka's, hand in her own had included the young woman (hardly more than a child) with eccentric hair in such an odd red hue. None of them had included receiving the news that Helena was the "father" of an entire genre of literature, or that the powerful woman that sat beside her, the one with the strange name, "Myka," would be familiar with any of her stories. Truly, she'd been prepared for a cold, business-like encounter with stiff collars sporting even stiffer rules, such as that Arthur fellow, but had instead found an adoring fan in Claudia and received the news that she, Helena G Wells was a prominent figure in the literary canon. Well, sort of. Her mind was, even if Charles' face was that which was tied to it.

The sheer implausibility of it… Helena's barriers and rationale had nearly collapsed. And it wasn't until now, at the swaying of their airship as it began its descent, that her senses returned.

"And we. Are. Home," the pilot called as the hum of the engines petered out.

"Thank God," the man who supposedly controlled heat and water chimed. "Why can't we ever travel by something besides air?"

"Stop being such a girlie, Jinksy," the red-head jibed playfully.

Myka demonstrated how to undo the safety harness that held Helena in, and then they were off. On the way out the door, the Brit caught sight of their pilot; he was practically a boy, dark-haired and bright-eyed, his face endowed with only the soft hair of adolescence.

_Perhaps he doesn't age,_ she puzzled, unbelieving that such a boy could be permitted to navigate such a machine. _Or perhaps he's talented – powerful like Ms. Bering._ The mere idea of there being so many people like herself, gifted people, able to congregate and survive in a single place was incredible in and of itself.

But then the young man was gone from sight. Helena was ushered down a ramp in a room of such size it could easily engulf the entire town house she and Charles had shared; it was full of what appeared to be tools and scientific equipment. A quick glance over her shoulder revealed to her the incredible machine which had brought her to…

"May I inquire as to where exactly we are?"

"South Dakota," Myka answered. "At Xavier's School for Higher Learning."

_How can we… _Not even ten minutes ago they'd been in Chicago, and now… "You mean South Dakota, as in the state?" the Brit verified. "How is that possible?"

Claudia, already on level ground at the foot of the ramp, looked up with a proud grin as the Brit joined her and in staring at the plane. "My baby runs off of a fusion core that works on reaction frequency of…"

"The jet is a product of much research and funding. It is the only one of its kind in the world," a voice detailed curtly, cutting the young woman short before she could get too carried away on what Helena was certain would've been a both enlightening and confusing lecture of considerable length.

Helena turned to find the voice's source. She nearly jumped at the sight of the matronly African-American woman who stood behind her. The woman emanated an air of power, of authority. The strong cut of her gray-tone suit, as well as the polished look of her black-rimmed glasses and piled hairdo promoted the feeling. Yet, Helena was quite certain that even if the woman were dressed in nothing but a nightgown the result would be little different. If she shared in the surprise that others had exhibited at Helena's gender or appearance, her face did not show it.

"Ms. Wells. May I be the first to welcome such an exalted figure to our establishment. I am Mrs. Fredric, head of this facility." Mrs. Fredric words were precise, weighed and lacking any fault or feeling; she spoke with the diction of authority. At last, someone met the Brit's expectations. "I am afraid I will not be able to give you a proper tour; business calls. Professor Bering, would you please attend to our new arrival's injuries?"

_How does she know my name? And "professor?"_ Helena pondered, glancing at the woman who seemed far too young for such a title.

The brunette's lips were curved in a slight frown. "Injuries? I don't think she-" Her green eyes roamed Helena's body and caught sight of the blood trickling down her knuckles. "What about Vanessa?"

"Dr. Calder left on an assignment fifteen minutes ago. Your familiarity with medicine should be more than proficient."

Myka nodded and glanced at the timepiece on her wrist. "I have a lecture to give in an hour."

Mrs. Fredric seemed to anticipate the complication. "We'll send someone to find Dr. Hernandez for a full physical. Mr. Lattimer, if you would."

The brown-haired man blanched at the suggestion. "But… but Dr. Hernandez and me… we don't really…"

Mrs. Fredric looked at him expectantly, and whatever the man had intended to say fizzled out. Cowed, he turned and disappeared through an oddly large, stainless-steel doorway.

"Professor Nielsen, there has been a situation. The rest of you may return to your activities," the woman continued, gesturing towards the doorway with a commanding finality. And so it was that the small group of faces she'd only just begun to acclimate to dispersed with quick farewells, leaving Helena's surrounding feeling even more alien.

Well, nearly. Ms. Bering still remained a constant.

"This way." Myka began moving towards a hallway.

Helena felt a moment's apprehension at the realization that they were the only ones using it, but bit the feeling down immediately. If the group harbored ill intentions towards her, she suspected that Ms. Bering or the school's headmistress could've acted as much already.

They stepped into a network of pristine white tunnels, the surfaces all made of a smooth substance Helena couldn't quite place.

"Sorry about the rush. It's our first day of the semester, so everything's a little hectic," Myka explained.

The Brit smiled. "It's no problem. So, _this _is a school? The décor is not as…warm as one would expect. Feels a touch more like the loony-bin."

A chuckle broke from Myka's lips. "Some days I wonder… but right now we're in the lower levels, which aren't really part of the student campus. A few floors up, you'd find something far more Oxford-esque."

"Ah."

"So, is it just the hand that needs fixing, or did you sustain any other injuries while you were… well."

Helena could hear the hints of distaste in Myka's words, despite the careful restraint. "You don't approve so much as young Ms. Donovan, I take it," she inquired bluntly.

The brunette hesitated. "I… Not really, no."

"I see," Helena replied diplomatically. "I believe my hand should be all," she continued in her most nonchalant tone. The way Myka looked at her, the humor in her eyes - Helena was all but certain that the brunette knew the Brit was avoiding a confrontation. "My brother always told me that argumentative discourse of ethics was poor material for first encounters as people would then immediately realize just how hotheaded I am," Helena explained with a shrug. "I've decided to adhere to his wisdom… just this once." She knew there was no hard feelings when she heard her companion's airy laugh.

They came to circular set of large metal doors; the panels slid apart as the women neared it, the steel drawing back as if by magic. Helena couldn't help but pause and inspect the contraption as her guide lead them into what appeared to be a small clinic.

The gaps in the wall into which the door had slid left little in the way of space which might be inspected. "We're you using your powers? Or are they mechanical?"

"Hm?" Myka turned around. She eyed the Brit curiously.

"The doors," Helena repeated, feeling a little foolish but she herself feeling far too curious to give up now. "How do they work? Did you use the telekinetics you spoke of to open them?"

"Oh! No, they're mechanical."

Helena looked at her expectantly.

"They have sensors which trigger the door if someone steps near enough," the professor continued.

"Sensors," the Englishwoman repeated, wondering. "Ingenious. What sort? Heat senors? Weight? Or do they operate on a light frequency, perhaps?"

Ms. Bering regarded her strangely, but smiling. "Infrared, I think. Claudia would know. But, if you'd take a seat on the examination table, please." The tall woman moved over to a counter and washed her hands. She picked up a square, white box painted with a red-cross.

_Well, at least first-aid kits haven't much changed in the past century,_ Helena mused, doing as was asked of her. The stainless steel table felt cool beneath her as her legs dangled over the edge.

"So you haven't… have you seen sliding doors before?"

"I daresay I haven't," the Brit admitted. "Are they common in this age?"

"'Are they common in this-'" the woman repeated, mystified, as she set the box down on the table, flipped back the latches, and began to rummaging through it.

Helena took the opportunity to examine her. Her green eyes and delicate fingers worked through the labels of various bottles with the precision of an expert. _Professor of medicine, perhaps?_ It seemed strange, considering her youthful face, yet unmarked by anything more than the slightest hints of age. Yet, it matched.

"Yes, I suppose they are…" Myka continued, tucking a strand of curly hair which had fallen loose from her ponytail behind one ear as her other hand settled on a small glass bottle and white piece of cloth. "Hand, please."

Helena winced at the sting as what she suspected to be a disinfectant was rubbed into the open cuts on her knuckles.

"Sorry," the brunette apologized sincerely. "So, you're _sure_ there's nothing else I need to look at?"

Helena's thoughts turned to the pain in her lower back where her most recent criminal-project had slammed her against a counter top. She was certain there'd be a motley bruise there soon, if not already.

"Nope. This should take care of it." Her gaze bounced between the linen being wrapped about her hand and the face of the woman applying

The way Myka eyed her, Helena was nearly certain the woman had been reading her mind. The thought alone made her freeze. _Didn't she mention telepathy earlier?_

"Are you sur-"

"Sorry I took so long!" A dark-haired woman dressed in a white lab-coat stepped through the doors just as Myka finished taping the bandage.

"No problem. Ms. Wells, meet Doctor Kelly Hernandez. Doctor, this is Helena G. Wells," Myka introduced.

"As in HG Wells. Like, the author guy… who is actually a woman. That sounded weird." Mr. Latimer stepped into the room on the doctor's heels. "Can I just call you HG?" He asked, directing a flattering grin Helena's way.

The Brit eyed him. He was cute, in a youthfully-sweet and decently-fit sort of way. _Oh, why not._ She smiled back, drawing on her well-practiced charm. "Certainly. Mr. Lattimer, is it not?"

"Just Pete is fine," he offered.

"Very well, Pete."

Kelly looked at the two, rolling her eyes. Helena did not know what exactly to make of the reaction. It seemed as though it ought to be read as dismissive, yet, there were tones of something almost… defensive. _Perhaps I am infringing,_ she mused.

"Well, Kelly, I've got a lecture to get to. It has been a pleasure, Ms. Wells."

Helena tore her attention away from the newcomers as Myka finished washing her hands. "Thank you, professor. For everything," she spoke warmly. Myka ducked her head in modesty before heading for the door.

"Take Pete with you?" Kelly asked in a voice dry as dust.

"But I want to sta-"

And with a small wave farewell, Myka Bering all but drug the man back out into the hallway. Helena could hear the echoes of his dismay as they disappeared from sight, leaving her, once again, in the hands of a stranger in a strange, new world.

* * *

"What's the problem? Is it MacPherson?" Artie questioned the moment he and Mrs. Fredric were free of his team.

"No, not this time."

He hated theatrics. She knew that. That's why the two of them got along so well – neither cared to waste time. "Well?"

The look she shot him was one he didn't recognize, not on her face. "I believe it's something else… something older."

He stared at her, still puzzling over her expression, when it finally struck him like a blow to the stomach by Babe Ruth sporting a two-by-four.

It was fear.

* * *

Myka Bering sat back from her desk. The array of papers before her, each awaiting assessment, was unable to hold her wavering attention. It wasn't that they were terrible; for the most part, they were quite the opposite. Engaging the black Times-New-Roman thoughts of her students with her looping red-ink impressions was nearly always a welcome task; Xavier's School for Higher Learning was chalked full of bright youngsters who brought bright and unique perspectives to the table. And these papers, a simple writing exercise from the first day of her Advanced Creative Writing course, were sure to be interesting enough.

Sighing, she pushed away from the desk and leaned back in her chair, lacing her fingers behind her head. Her gaze wandered to the window, to the autumn crimsons and fiery oranges of the oaks shedding leaves in the courtyard. The South Dakota chill always came a bit early, but she never seemed to mind the cold quite as much as everyone else. Except for Sam; that man never buttoned his jacket outside, even when the frosts came and the air grew bitter with the sting of midwinter. He always rushed everywhere, only stopping when she kissed his chilled skin and insisted buttoning it for him.

Or rather, he had.

She fought to pull herself free of the phantoms; these moments always ended with their frigid fingers grasping at her center, at her fraying edges.

Maybe she'd broken a few too many mental barriers in her pursuit of HG Wells this morning and was still off balance. Or perhaps the cold struck a little deeper these days.

It was just the time of year.

The wooden clock that hung on the wall in front of her desk read 5:37. Leena was probably making dinner. If she hurried, Myka could probably get home in time to give her a hand. Sliding the papers into a paper folio, she threw on her beige scarf and black peacoat.

* * *

"Hey Mykes! We were waiting for you. Join the part-ay!"

Myka looked up as she entered the kitchen to find the X-Men ground team already clustered around the dining table. Pete waved her over. Artie's seat sat empty, but there was another chair pulled up to the antique wooden table, one in a place that had stood empty for nearly two years. It was filled by none other than their new arrival.

"Hi everyone," she acknowledged with a tired smile. "Need a hand, Leena?"

The dark-skinned woman shook her head gently. The sympathy in her eyes left Myka with no doubt that she knew exactly what Myka was feeling. The brunette felt guilty for it, for making Leena witness her own inner-pain and knowing that it would be the better part of two weeks before it began to fade. But it was just the time of year.

Myka washed her hands at the sink and took up her seat across from that newly returned chair. She tried not to refill it with ghosts.

* * *

They polished off Leena's delicious lasagna in good cheer, passing jokes and questioning their guest – their incredibly sexy new guest, in Pete's mind – about herself.

"So, what do you think of the place?" He asked.

"It's absolutely amazing! How everything has advanced… It will take me ages to catch up scientifically alone. All of the new things I've seen today…"

"Like sliding doors?" Myka asked with a teasing smile.

"Yes, sliding doors," Helena replied with a cheeky grin. "But more so, the society you've built here, and the apparent, sheer genetic diversity between its members. Is there a limit to the varieties? If I may ask, what are all of your powers? Is that rude to ask, amongst _mutants?"_

Claudia shrugged. "Depends on the person. Some are embarrassed by their talents or just don't like to talk about it. I," she paused as strands of her hair began to float upwards, charged with electricity. A breeze flickered through the room. "- can manipulate the weather."

"What has Artie told you about storms in the house?" Leena piped up.

The young red-head smiled sheepishly. "Sorry."

"Incredible! And you, Leena?" the Brit prodded.

"I read auras… life forces, moods, energy."

"So, if I felt terribly, you would know it? Or if I whether I am good or evil?" Helena inquired, keenly interested.

"I… yes. Maybe," Leena answered awkwardly. "Moods, yes. Evil, however is a strange way to put it. No one is really emotionally 'evil'; it's just some are more upset or angry or unsettled over something. But sometimes I pick up on more long-term situations, like whether someone is good-natured or sympathetic or unstable…"

Pete watched Helena's eyes dart down to the gloves on Leena's hands, the gloves she always wore, and the long-sleeves that always covered up her skin. It seemed as if the Brit had some emotion-reading skills herself; she didn't ask.

"That's fantastic," the Brit said with a reassuring smile.

"Thank you." Leena glowed at the compliment. "I'll go grab dessert, if everyone's ready?"

"Do you need a hand?" Myka offered, scooting her chair back.

Leena waved her back into her seat.

Helena reached for the wine bottle. "Who's next? Or hold on a moment. Do we have an ice bucket?" Helena queried.

Everyone looked to Steve.

"No need," he answered. Reaching out, Pete handed him the bottle. When passed back, Helena's face brightened as her hand touched the chill glass.

"Well that most certainly is handy," she mused. "And you Peter? … Peter?" The Brit glanced around, looking straight through Pete several times. He struggled not to laugh. "Where did he- oh!"

"Pretty awesome, right?" Pete prodded, basking in the gorgeous Brit's gaze as he reappeared.

"An actual Invisible Man," Myka murmured softly.

Helena looked away from Pete, her eyes gleaming as they fell upon the woman. Pete missed the attention, not really sure why it had fled so suddenly when Myka had done nothing more than state the obvious.

"So, that leaves only you, Ms. Bering," the raven-haired woman prodded. "What _precisely_ are you capable of?"

The brunette woman frowned thoughtfully, swirling the Merlot in her glass.

"Mykes doesn't like to use her powers," Pete began to explain for his teammate, "but she is basically the juggernaut of all psychic mutants; even Mrs. Fredric doesn't know her limits: moving objects, reading minds, manipulating energy, and all with her head - anything brainy, she's got it. Once, when we were twelve, I stole her story collection of that Shakespeare guy, and she mentally took the underwear I was wearing and-"

"That's enough of that story," Myka cut-in wryly. The look of daggers she gave him made Pete feel a little guilty; he shut his mouth.

"Is that true?" HG asked, leaning in.

Pete could tell Myka was a little upset. Maybe he'd gone a little too far, but she never really enjoyed discussing her gift. In part, it was probably because of the awe some people held for someone as powerful as she actually was. But, another undeniable reason was that hers was one of the handful of talents that came with a serious danger. Pete was of the few close enough to her to know about the price of Myka's powers if she went too far. About how she could, in fact, loose herself if she didn't maintain her psychic guards.

He was one of the few who had witnessed the Phoenix.

"Well, here's dessert! I hope you all like it," Leena returned to the table, cutting through the tension.

The proclamation immediately stole Pete's attention. "What is it?"

"Blueberry cheese cake," Leena answered with a grin, handing out plates from a sliver tray.

"Yes! Gosh, I love this stuff! Leena, you're amazing," he replied.

The sentiment was agreed upon by everyone except Myka. Pete watched as she slid back her chair and took to her feet, offering Leena a quiet "no thank you," and a tired, sad smile. She looked at the last plate on the tray like it was something else, something more than just a slice of Leena's amazing cheesecake, not to mention blueberry, which they'd rarely had since…

Oh. It struck Pete about the same time it did Leena. It had been _his_ favorite.

"Oh my gosh. Myka, I'm so sorry! I don't know how I forgot," Leena stumbled.

Myka just put a hand on Leena's shoulder. "No, no, no. Don't apologize. You guys don't have to skip out on it just because of me. And the lasagna was amazing. Thank you, Leena. Really." She drew her hand back and ran her fingers through her tangled mane of hair. "It's just that I pushed myself a little too far today and have some papers to grade. I'll see you guys in the morning. It was great to really meet you, Helena. 'Night, every one."

A smattering of "good night"s rose from the table.

She took her not even half-eaten plate of lasagna and scraped it into the trash, stowing away the dish in the dish washer and carrying her glass of red away with her into the hallway and out of sight. No one spoke.

"Was it… did I upset her?" HG finally asked, concerned.

Pete shook his head. "It wasn't you."

"It wasn't anyone," Claudia explained. "It's just the time of year."

* * *

_Did that angsty-ness make sense? I hope so..._

_Anyways, prepare yourselves for an awesome 'Pride and Prejudice' sort of gig, as well as some kick-ass action as soon as I finish several projects due this week. Damn college classes..._

_Reviews are always lovely, as well as any PMs. Even if they're about things such as a spelling/grammatical error! Have a beautiful day or evening or whatever it is wherever you are :)_


	3. Chapter 3 - Pranks and Puddles of Goo

_AN: Gah! Three days late! :S Had two midterms, a lengthy Shakespeare paper, and five computer application-builds due last week, but busted through. Here's the next chapter, with my apologies._

_In these last few days, I've spent a fair bit of my rare free-time reading Virginia Woolf (instead of writing this; yeah, I know…), whom I've decided I officially love. I stumbled across her essay, "Modern Fiction." Really, she's brilliant, and I recommend her works to __**EVERYONE**__. Anyways, blame her beautiful mind, a mind I dearly wish had not cut short its own machinations, if my chapters take longer to come :P_

* * *

"Mykes! Darn it, I was going to beat you here for once," Pete greeted as he strode into the Blackbird's nest a whole fifteen minutes early for their Friday noon briefing.

Myka stood leaning against the edge of the briefing table that rested in the corner of the lofty room. Pulling herself from whatever deep, smarty-pants thought she'd been lost in, she turned and eyed him suspiciously. "Really? You came early, for the first time in the five years we've been doing this, just to beat me?"

He threw up his hands. "Okay, you caught me."

She looked at him expectantly.

"There may have been an incident with some kids, and maybe a non-kid, with some ingredients in the chemistry lab, which might have resulted in a stink bomb of sorts and a _very_ small fire, just a tiny one, and then Dr. Hernandez might have come running into the room to crash the party and yell at everyone, but the non-kid might have turned invisible and fled the premises, and he's probably hoping right now that his bestest friend in the whole world, this smart, beautiful gal with incredible brain-powers, will vouch his alibi if anyone comes looking for him…" he ended sheepishly. Myka regarded him wryly. "Did I mention his friend is really smart? And beautiful?" he added.

"Yes. Maybe if you keep it up, she'll consider helping him out," she teased.

"Smart and beautiful. She's smart and beautiful. Be-a-utiful and smart! What a clever- cookie."

She grinned. "So… How was diner last night?" The question came out a little awkwardly, but Pete went with it.

"Man, that HG is one serious babe." The words just poured out of his mouth. He glanced over at the brunette unabashedly. "But, it was a bit of a bummer after you left. We all just talked for a bit, told HG about what we do. She told us about her life. That sort of thing. Then it got late, and I walked her back to the guest house and wished her good night."

"Pete, are you trying to seduce HG Wells?"

"Maybe. Can you blame me? But are you feeling better today? And did you _really _have papers to grade?"

She blushed a little. "Yes, I '_really'_ had papers to grade."

"I can't believe you're _that_ professor! The strict one who makes their students turn in homework on the first day of class. That's just cruel. I thought I'd taught you better," Pete scolded.

She just rolled her eyes. "It wasn't homework. It was an in-class warm-up exercise for my creative-writing course."

"So… is there supposed to be difference in there, and I'm just missing it?"

"It wasn't homework! There was no 'taking home' involved, and I -" She stopped short. "Claudia, what happened to you?" Pete followed her eyes to spy the youngest member of their team shuffling through the doorway.

"So this is what the over after the hanging feels like? God, just let me die," the youth mumbled as she stumbled into the room, angling towards them. Her punk-rocker style had been abandon in favor of a grey hoodie and maroon sweatpants. The hood was drawn down over her face, blocking out the light as best it could.

"Over after the… a hangover?!" Myka puzzled out.

_Oh god, here it comes,_ Pete thought, cringing internally. He braced himself for Myka's "scary voice."

"Pete, I thought you said you all 'just talked for a bit?! How did she get drunk? _How could you let her get that drunk_?"

The X-man held up his hands in innocence. "Hey, she only had a glass of red… or five," slipped out quietly. _ My big fat mouth always has to stab me in the back… Is that even physically possible?_ The image of himself as a contortionist, dagger clenched between his teeth, stole his attention for a brief moment before Myka's nagging called him away from it.

"Pete, she's eighteen! A minor! She shouldn't have had any wine, let alone enough to wake up with a hangover."

"HG said it was okay, and I just thought that if _she_ thought so-"

"Helena is practically a guest! She isn't going to say no," Myka cut in. She gestured at the redhead who now sat slumped at the briefing table, forehead pressed against its glass-and-oak surface. "Just look at her."

"Ha, yeah. I remember the good ol' days when I was just a wee teen testing my limits," he reminisced warmly. "Ah, the pain."

The woman sighed in exasperation. "No, no, no. That, as in that young girl right there who looks like she is about to throw up? That is not a good thing."

"Right here guys, so you can stop talking about me like I'm dead or a rock or something," Claudia groaned, raising a hand but not her head. "And please don't mention tossing the cookies, 'cause that makes me feel like I'm about to do it. Peer pressure from all the older kids... yeah, not finishing that thought 'cause I'm not sure it makes sense," she ended a bit disjointedly.

Pete had to grin. Sure, he held more than a niggling bit of sympathy for the teen, but just seeing her after that sort of experience was hilarious. "Oh c'mon, Mykes. Don't tell me you never got trashed before you hit the big two-oh-one."

"'Two-oh-one?' That's two-hundred-and… you know what, never mind. But you're wrong, because I didn't!"

Pete slapped his forehead. "Gah! No wonder you give homework on the first day of class when all the kids are getting over their celebratory back-to-school hangovers from the night before. Mykes," he shook his head sadly, "I'm sorry to say this, but, I think you're fun-drive is broken. We need to fix you."

Myka crossed her arms and leveled a look, dark enough to scare the buhjeezus out of just about anyone, straight at him. But, after the better part of 20 years of receiving it on an almost-daily basis, he'd gotten plenty used to ignoring it. He could never have gotten up to all his shenanigans and remained friends with her ever since they were just kids studying at Xavier's if he hadn't.

"My 'fun-drive' is perfectly fine. Just because I don't think ending up like Claudia is all amazing and wonderful doesn't mean it's broken. Oh no, there is no fixing required on this 'fun-drive.'"

"Oh yeah?" Pete tested, crossing his arms over his chest. "When was the last time you took the fun-drive for a test-drive, huh?"

"Hey, everyone?" Claudia interrupted weakly. "Can we stop referring to this 'fun-drive' thing? I'm not sure if I'm supposed to be thinking of it in terms of an SATA hard-drive, or an SSD, or Myka's s-e-x drive, and it's kinda creeping me out 'cause it's all blurring into one weird picture of wires and circuit boards and spinning metal arms with..."

The older woman blushed and rocked on her heels. "Okay. Discussion over. At least until Artie gets here."

Pete's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Why? You'd be more comfortable discussing your sex life with him than with me and Claud?"

"No!" She punched him in the arm. "Because when Artie sees Claudia, the two of you are going to be in _big _trouble."

That was enough to get the teen to raise her head. Eyes peeking out, wide with fear beneath her disheveled hair, it was pretty clear she hadn't thought about that. And, now that Myka mentioned it, Pete was pretty sure he hadn't really thought about it either.

"Uh oh."

Pete met her gaze, his mind whirring over their options. He'd gotten himself into enough trouble to have learned to always have contingency plans. Or, just run away. Running away could be good. "So, how do you feel about playing hooky?"

Claudia hoisted herself to her feet the moment the words were out of his mouth. She began to nod but stopped immediately, her face paling from the motion. "Yeah," she croaked. "Do we have a cover story? And where should I go? Last time I didn't get the memo for a meeting, Mrs. Fredric popped into my room like a scary Genie with who knows everything, like your deepest wishes, but instead of granting them gives you extra paperwork."

"What's this about genies and…?"

Everyone turned to find Dr. Calder and Artie walking into the room.

_Too late._

"Nothing," Claudia squeaked, sinking back down into her seat with a sickly smile.

"So, uh, what's up, doc?" Pete chimed in, trying to steal away their attention from the teen. "We heard you had to attend to some business yesterday."

"Hi, Pete," the older woman replied. "Actually, I that's why I'm here today. I'll be briefing you on it."

"Oh." Steve and Leena appeared a moment later, close on Mrs. Fredric's heels. "Well, I can't wait," he added with forced cheer as he took a seat next to Claudia.

Mrs. Fredric took to standing at the head of the table as everyone settled in. "Good afternoon, everyone. " The three words were the only prelude to business she gave. Not that Pete minded - more eyes on her meant fewer on Claud.

"Yesterday," she continued, "Cerebra picked up an erratic signature. Mutant, but unlike anything we've previously detected. It acted sporadically, jumping between power classifications. At first we thought it might be an adolescent coming into his or her powers. However, before I could use Cerebra to hone in on the signature, it faded away completely.

"We sent out a local team to investigate the location, and what they turned up was this."

A photograph a red flannel and a pair of jeans drowning in a puddle of greenish-brown mucus appeared on the screen. It looked to Pete like someone had eaten some clothes with their pea-soup, but hadn't been able to keep any of it down. He glanced over at the redhead. Face a drawn tight, she was looking anywhere but the screen.

"Dr. Calder, if you would."

"Of course." Vanessa quickly took to her feet, replacing Mrs. Fredric at the table's head. "I was sent to set up a quarantine around the material, as well as examine it. What my samples have found so far is nothing short of… well, incredible.

"What you're looking at is the remains of a mutant man."

Claudia blanched. "Buhjeezus, that is so gross."

All eyes seemed to fall to her. Pete cleared his throat, slapping a palm on the table to draw attention. "So, uh, wow. Yeah, please continue, Dr. Calder." He tried to ignore Artie's gaze which was still directed their way.

"I've been examining what's left of his physical matter, and the data I've found so far isn't particularly conclusive. However, I have been able to isolate a few intact cells. None of them contained active mutant flags in its genome."

"So, how do we know he was a mutant?" Steve asked.

Dr. Calder tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I was able to isolate cell parts, including fragments of DNA, from the rest of the substance. Certain strands were mutated, but it was odd. The patterns weren't very consistent. It was as if the substance contained samples from millions of different mutant hosts, some hardly recognizable as human. But, I found so many shared markers that I think it's all genetic material from a single man."

"So, that… guy, he had the powers of a billion different mutants?" Pete questioned.

"No," the older woman shot down. "He had inconsistent cell growth that mirrored a billion types of mutants, but his cells weren't consistent enough. He wouldn't have been able to use them."

Myka shifted in her seat, staring hard at the screen. "Is it the result of something contagious?"

"I don't know what it is. I've been running tests all morning. What's left of him is stable, as far as I can tell. I haven't found any viral remains. It could be the first case of a disease, or it might just be a one-time freak of science."

"So, what are we going to do about it?"

"Thank you, Dr. Calder. You may take a seat," Mrs. Fredric interrupted, stepping back in. "As for your question, the team to be on high alert this weekend."

A small wave of groans flooded the table, stifled a half-second later by the intimidating woman's stare. "If another ping like this one occurs, we'll need to be on scene in minutes."

"Yes," Artie piped up. "That means no parties, no off-campus trips, and no getting inebriated."

It took Pete a second to realize everyone was looking at him.

"Does that include me, Mrs. Fredric?" Leena asked. It was a good question. The younger woman rarely tagged along on away missions; he was more of a back-up, watching over home base except on special occasions.

"No. I've asked you here for a different reason, which leads us to our discussion of another matter: Ms. Wells. As she will be staying here for the foreseeable future, I believe it best that-"

"Wait a second. Helena is staying?" Myka interrupted. Pete looked at her, wide-eyed. No one ever interrupted Mrs. Fredric. Maybe that was a little dramatic. Rarely did anyone interrupt her.

The headmistress turned to her with an arched eyebrow. "Yes, professor. Is there something wrong?"

"No! Yes. I-," Myka winced and started over. "I don't know. If she's _the_ HG Wells, part of me is shouting 'let her stay.' A that same part tells me she needs a safe place to heal and adjust to society after over a century of time travel, and that here is the best. But it's just, what about the law and her persona as 'The Ghost'? Is it safe to let someone who did those things wander around campus? She had reasons to punish those people, but criminal vigilantism is still a criminal, so are all those crimes just 'forgiven?' But then again, anti-mutant sentiments in the legal system could destroy her."

Mrs. Fredric nodded. "I have addressed the Board of Regents about the issue, and it was decided that for the moment it is best to grant her sanctuary. She is a woman of extraordinary power and could prove a valuable asset if given a stable environment to integrate herself into.

"'The Ghost' will fade from the public view and memory. Unless she has a relapse, in which case we will reevaluate our stance on her treatment, her past actions will go unpunished in favor of careful rehab here on campus. Ms. Bering, do you think the present legal system would give her an unbiased, ruling?"

"No," Claudia interjected vehemently. "It wouldn't."

Pete looked at her, trying not to let his sympathy show. The red-head hated it when people pitied her for past experience with the anti-mutant sentiments in law, for the childhood years when she'd been stuck in a prison, treated as if she was mentally-ill and criminal.

Myka couldn't deny the answer either. She merely shook her head, agreeing with the teen.

"Very well," said the headmistress. "Now that we are in agreement, I wanted to address her place on campus. She will be moving in with the team as soon as another room is prepared."

"You mean in the B&B?" Pete verified. The building that housed the team members, a large white house offset from the student dormitories, had always been difficult to reference in speech. What should you call that thing? The X-men dormitories? Too clunky and not accurate. The X-Mansion? It wasn't _really _a mansion, and the old X-Mansion was the main hall on campus. The place simply hadn't had a half-decent name until Pete one day made the observation that living there was basically like living at a bed and breakfast. The idea had stuck and become the official nickname.

"Yes, at the B&B. We believe it safest if she builds bonds with stable people in a controlled environment where Leena can keep an eye on her. For the moment, she is not an official X-woman, but she will live with you as if she were one."

"Am I going to be making reports or anything?" Leena asked, clearly uncomfortable with the idea.

Mrs. Fredric shook her head. "If something seems off, notify me. Otherwise, you will occasionally be called upon to discuss her progress. Are there any other questions?"

No one spoke.

"Then I believe that concludes our business. Enjoy your weekends."

And just like that it was over. Obviously wanting to bolt, Claudia staggered to her feet and Pete followed suit, reaching out to steady her.

"Claudia, are you okay?"

_Uh oh._

Artie was looking at them, eyes narrowed. The teen was looking back, jaw working but no sound coming out.

"Oh, uh, she's just feeling a bit under the weather," Pete covered for her. "You know, with it being fall and with all these kids, colds go around."

Dr. Calder came to stand beside their grizzled field lead. "I would be more than happy to take a look at you," she offered kindly.

"I- no! No, no, no, that's alright. I think I just need some 'z's, and then everything will be rainbows again," the teen gushed.

Artie shook his head. "We need everyone ready in case there's a ping. You'd better get looked at."

There was no way the doctor wouldn't figure out the real issue. A bum with half a brain and a doctor's license from a cereal-box would be able to tell it wasn't a cold, and she wasn't just a doctor. She was a brilliant doctor, best of the best. Pete looked at Claudia, hoping the brilliant young woman would think of a way out of it, only to find that she was already giving him the same desperate gaze

"Professor Bering," Mrs. Fredric interrupted. "Why don't you have a look at Ms. Donovan. I'm certain Dr. Calder has tests waiting to be finished.

Pete nearly sighed with relief, catching himself at the last second.

"I don't know," Artie countered. "Vanessa could-"

"I'm sure she'll be more than sufficient, Arthur," Mrs. Fredric cut in.

Finally, Artie shrugged and let the matter drop, following the doctor as the room began to clear out, leaving Pete, Myka, Claudia, and Mrs. Fredric alone. The headmistress gave them a knowing look and finally followed suit.

Pete finally let the air rush from his lungs. "Whew. That was close."

"Close?" Myka asked. "Mrs. Fredric totally knew and just cut you two some slack."

"Yeah, but we got away with it, didn't we? I am the best!"

The brunette rolled her eyes. "C'mon. Let's get Claudia back to bed."

"Admit it."

"Pete…"

"Is the best! Just add on those three little words…"

* * *

_The next morning-_

* * *

The wild growth of the conservatory was a haven in sharp contrast to the outside world. There were vibrant plants, green with life and flourishing in warmth and wet, all heavy with shadows in the morning light. And then there were those plants withering under the early morning frosts, heralding winter's bitter chill with all but the trees too decrepit to cast darkness against the coming light. The border between the two was but a thin wall of glass, the ancient triangular panes fragile and drooping in their wooden framing.

Myka traced her fingers across the transparent surface of one, carelessly letting the cold sink in through her skin. She'd come to escape the decay, to bask in the lively warmth, yet here she was. The realization made her pull away.

The greenhouse, a project commissioned by James Howlett in the man's later years, was a construct nearly large enough to rival the Blackbird's nest. It's cylinder of glass walls stretched 12 feet high. They were topped by an arching dome which reached fifty feet of altitude at its central apex. Mulched pathways spread from the center of the room in concentric circles, a handful of go-betweens fragmenting and connecting the rings. Her feet shuffled along the trails as she wove through the flower beds and sculpted bushes, making her way to the center in a looping round-about fashion.

When at last the churning waters of the central fountain came into sight did her mind actually note of anything. Her eyes traced the marble statue of the Greek goddess Artemis which stood firmly at the center of the spraying jets. The figure, ten feet tall and raised even higher by the platform beneath her rocky feet seemed the epitome of collectedness and strength. Bow raised and empty hand arching back to grab an arrow from her quiver, the pale, chiseled stone and its veins of grey seemed capable of handling anything with a sort of wild grace. It was beautiful, built of calm and control.

Myka felt a twinge of envy.

Glancing away, she was startled as her eyes met those of another. Helena sat at one of the handful of round glass-topped tables that rested scattered about the clearing. The Victorian waved to her, and after a moment Myka realized it would be impolite to simply stand there and stare. Shaking herself to her senses, the brunette made her way over.

"Good morning, Helena. Not one for sleeping in?" Myka asked casually.

The Brit eyed the woman, her smile like a fox's. **"**And miss the sunrise? **'**Morning brings back the heroic ages. There is something cosmological about it…'"

_What's that supposed to mea – Thoreau? She's quoting Thoreau?_ The brunette narrowed her eyes and returned the smile as she recalled another of his lines. "Yes. It's like, 'for an hour, at least some part of us awakes which slumbers all the rest of the day and night.'" She paused for a beat before deciding to tack on a test of her own. "'The air becomes sharp and piercing in its first dull hue.'"

It didn't go unchecked, Helena's eyes bright as they bore into the brunette's. "It's rather like 'the death of night than the birth of day.' Though, I say 'good morning to the day: and next my gold.'"

"I understand. Some wait for daylight so they can 'open the shrine and see their saint.' But, I was just 'waiting for the common sense of the morning,'" Myka countered, not missing a beat.

Helena's delighted laughter blended with the quiet tinkle of the fountain, breaking the flow of their sparring. "Ah! Professor, it is considered conceited to quote one's self, and I almost certainly ought to maintain the pretext of being otherwise for as long as possible." She gestured at the seat across from herself. "On the night before last, after you retired from the table, I inquired as to the movement of literature in the past century. I was unanimously redirected to you with what I see now to be very good reason."

Myka smiled at the compliment as she settled into the slatted wooden chair. "You're not too shabby yourself," she replied. In all honesty, the brunette had been surprised at the Brit's game. Some small part of her still refused to accept that this slip woman whom she'd stumbled upon beating a man bloody was in fact her childhood hero. Myka should've been asking the billions of questions about Helena's texts that troubled her, but between not knowing where to start and not being able to truly believe, she struggled to find a place to start. "You almost caught me off guard. I didn't really take you for the Thoreau type."

"Yes well, while he was a bit Spartan in his philosophy, I've a soft spot for independence born of work ethic," Helena admitted. "Nature's not too terrible either, I suppose," she tacked on, gesturing loosely to their surroundings.

"Well, speaking of literature, I left before you ever got around to explaining yours," Myka hinted. "Was _The Time Machine_ all imagination, or did you actually witness it?"

Helena smiled gently. "Imagination, thankfully. I'm afraid my own variety of time travel isn't quite so simple. Though, looking back to our first meeting, which proves you are indeed capable of the same manipulations, surely you don't require any such explanation?"

Myka held up a palm in denial. "Ha, capable? If I hadn't been mentally prepared, I would've never caught on to what you were doing. I still don't know exactly how it worked, or what that dark," she struggled to name it, "… tear in space that appeared beside you was."

"Well then," the Brit thought for a moment. "The rift you speak of is my method of traveling through spaces. I cannot say how it works scientifically, but I simply imagine a doorway to the place I desire to travel to and voila."

"Teleportation," Myka paraphrased with understanding. "There are a few other records of similarly gifted mutants."

"Truly?" Helena asked keenly interested. "Were any capable of time alteration as well?"

The brunette shook her head. "A few extremely powerful psychics could freeze it for a little while, but I've never heard of someone going forward, not to mention actually skipping through a century."

"Well, perhaps their century just isn't up yet and they are still busy 'skipping' away," Helena pondered slyly. "I suppose I could try to describe the process."

"Please," Myka prodded.

The Brit leaned forward in her seat and traced a straight, invisible line across the table between them. "The easiest way to explain it would be to imagine time in the form of a one-way street; I apologize for the terrible cliché. Distasteful metaphor aside, you are traveling at a steady rate along the street. This rate is constant, ever unchanging, ever unstopping. You cannot will yourself to move either faster or slower, or to change direction. Your velocity is unshakable.

"And you cannot simply pop from one place to another – physics does not permit you to simply 'stop existing' at some point in time. But, imagine that you are capable of reaching out with your thoughts to manipulate a narrow strip of concrete along the path, the strip beneath your feet which runs out ahead of you. It is an elastic sort of putty. You can stretch it or scrunch it together, elongate it or compact it. What was once fifty feet might become 100 miles or one inch, if you are strong enough.

"So, if one with such a power desires to not reach the next moment so quickly, he or she can do so by stretching the path. He or she would move at that ever constant rate, but would have to travel far farther to reach the same place."

Myka nodded, eyes narrowed in thought, grasping at the concept. "So, such a person would be stretching time, making it last longer. And if someone wanted to leap forward?"

Helena smiled at her understanding, basking in the intellectual trade they were entwined in. When she'd tried to explain the same idea to Peter prior to dinner, he'd given up at "velocity." "If you wanted to leap forward, you'd simply compact the path, let the rate of your travel carry you just a foot or two, and then release the tension. As the road springs back out, you'd be carried forward with it."

"That's… wow."

"Something like that," Helena agreed with a grin. "Well, perhaps you'd care to accompany me to breakfast so that we might continue this discussion? I'm not entirely sure where breakfast is, in all honesty."

Myka couldn't help but return the smile as she took to her feet. "C'mon. I'm sure the team won't mind having one more at the breakfast table. But, I have to warn you, Pete after sleeping eight hours without food is dangerous. And Artie can be pretty surly before his coff-"

_Another strange mutant has been detected. Departure in three minutes. _The words echoed through Myka's skull.

"Myka? Are you all right?"

The brunette realized she'd stopped midsentence and was staring blankly at the Brit. Her face began to heat. "I'm so sorry. Mrs. Fredric just called me."

Helena eyed her strangely.

"Telepathy," she replied awkwardly, realizing how much like a lame, formulaic excuse it must've sounded like. "I have to run."

"Of course. Well, perhaps another morning then," the Brit replied, understanding.

Myka instantly felt bad leaving _the_ HG Wells out to dry in a foreign place. She froze.

"Professor. I understand. Go," Helena urged gently.

It was enough. Myka began back peddling along the path. "Another morning," she called out.

And so it was that as she turned and began to half-run, half-fly through the green, a slow grin spread across her face at the realization of what she'd just agreed to.

Breakfast with HG Wells. What a novelty.

* * *

_AN 2(Because I love assaulting you all with italics and my random thoughts) : Many a study break went into this beast. Hope you enjoyed it. I didn't realize it was so long!_

_*The quotes traded between Myka and Helena hail from the muses of Henry Thoreau, Charles Dickens, Ben Jonson, and HG Wells, in case anyone particularly cares._

_*James Howlett- a reference to Wolverine's true name. Comic wise, I'm pretty sure he reopened the school, and I could totally see Logan becoming a chill, wise old man who loves plants in his later years._


	4. Chapter 4 - Diamonds

Pulling Pete away from the breakfast table just when Leena was about to bring in the first batch of waffles was about as difficult editing Cerebra's programming in binary. Each was a total beast of a project, but one that Claudia had somehow managed.

Jogging into the Blackbird's nest, the pair was surprised to find it already occupied. Todd stood beneath a wing, fiddling with an open panel. He must've heard the sound of their footsteps, as he glanced over at their approach.

"Hey, Claudia," the young pilot greeted with a grin, pulling a rag from his back pocket and off his hands on it.

The red-head couldn't help but return a smile of her own. "Hey, Funk. Whatcha doing with my baby this at this ungodly hour?" She tried to ignore the fluttering in her stomach as he met her gaze.

"Remember that quirk we had in the aft thrusters? Well, I thought about it last night, and the solution hit me this morning." He waved at the open circuitry with the screwdriver in his hand, gesturing for her to step up and take a look. "The chipsets in the front ports were having power-draw issues because the TSL couplings on the core were bridged to the wing relays, which were running on neutrin-"

"Hey, hey, hey, hold on, partner." Pete glanced between the two of them. "Number one: We've gotta go. And more importantly, number two: What am I? Chopped liver?"

Todd tore his gaze away from her, blushing a little. "'Morning, Pete."

"Good morning," the older man responded. "Now, can you stitch the bird up so we can fly? We gotta run."

"Yeah, it'll just take a sec, I just need to close this and then-" he fumbled with the tool in his hand and the handle slipped from his fingers.

Without thinking, Claudia bent over to pick it up. Todd apparently had the same idea, because a second later their foreheads crashed together. Both shot straight immediately, faces quickly reddening as a wave of apologies passed between them.

"My bad. I'm so sorry."

"No, it was totes my fault…"

"I didn't expect you to-"

The trade came to an end when the forgotten screwdriver suddenly appeared between their faces. Following tracing the length of the arm that held it suspended, Claudia winced as she met Pete's knowing look.

"What?" she asked defensively. Her hand snatched the offending tool from his. "Go get into your spandex."

Pete snagged the screwdriver back from her grasp and set it into Todd's. "You have spandex, too." He grabbed her by the arm and hauled her up the boarding ramp, leaving the blushing pilot rubbing the growing bump on his head and suddenly wishing, for the first time in his life, that he had a uniform too.

* * *

It wasn't spandex. Sure, the team wore spandex; when on high alert, it was custom to wear the stuff beneath your every-day digs, 24/7, just to be ready. But that was just the undergarment to the thick, stiff polymer bodysuits that, in a few places, looked an awful lot like pleather.

Yeah, it was definitely a lot of awful.

But, as Claudia finished pulling up her side-zipper, she had to admit the blue material stitched with silver and emblazoned with yellow accents and "x"s on the shoulders did make her look like a bit of a bad-ass, especially when standing amongst the rest of her team members. Every one of them wore the same color scheme, but the cut itself was a touch different depending on the person.

Unity in disparity – or maybe it was the other way around.

"Hey guys!" Myka hastily greeted as she dashed into the jet, already stripping off her button up and jeans to reveal black Under Armor beneath. She was the last aboard.

"Here." The redhead threw the brunette her uniform from the gear locker.

The older woman caught it, immediately beginning to pull it on. "Thanks," she panted. "Is Artie here?"

"He's in back, eating a muffin," Pete informed. The man plopped down into his seat, jealous running thick in his words and expression.

"It's just breakfast, man," Steve replied as he followed suit, strapping himself in.

"Just breakfast?! Leena was making waffles!" Pete whined.

"They'll still be there when you get back," Myka answered exasperatedly. "Wait a second." Her face lit up. She grabbed her phone from her shirt pocket before stashing her civilian clothing in the locker. Carrying her boots in one hand, she dropped them on the floor before settling down beside Pete. Her thumbs worked the smartphone's screen like there was no tomorrow.

"Um, what am I waiting for?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing. It's just Helena was in the conservatory, looking for someone to have breakfast with. I'm letting Leena know so she can find her."

"Mykes, if HG eats _my_ waffles…" Pete warned.

* * *

When they arrived at the suburban address no more than five minutes later, they were too late. Not for the waffles. For the poor soul they'd been sent to find.

As Myka threw open the house door, the scent of something a lot like three-week old garbage, or maybe Pete's room, accosted Claudia's nose.

"Holy-" The young woman swallowed, trying not to gag. "What is that?" she asked, pinching her nose as she followed the rest of the team inside through a short hallway.

"That," Steve spoke up from ahead, "is the smell of failure." He stepped aside, making room for her as they reached the kitchen.

"Nobody touch anything," Myka warned.

"Yeah, like I was really planning on playing in _that_," Pete countered sarcastically.

Claudia made her way to join them but immediately regretted it. There, on the tiles, was a scene much like the one in Dr. Calder's photos, except this time, instead of bad plaid and worn blue jeans, whoever had been turned to goop had had a bit more fashion sense. A pair of black heels were sat full of the pale greenish gunk, a little black dress ruffled up in a messy puddle beside it. Various bits of gold jewelry glinted in the dim light where not coated in the nasty stuff.

"Oh God." The teen immediately spun away, begging her suddenly upset stomach to chill out. "I'll, uh, I'll go Farnsworth Artie."

Less than five minutes later, far too soon for Claudia's liking to be honest, the older man met her at the open doorway. "Where is it?"

Gulping down one last breath of fresh air, the redhead bucked up and led him inside where the other agents were still looking around. Myka noticed them enter first.

"We can rule out freak accident," the older woman said. "That makes two of them in the same week."

Artie grimaced, staring down at the puddle. "Have any of you touched it, and have you taken a look around?"

"Don't worry. We kept our digits out of the people-sludge," Pete assured.

Steve stepped up and held out his hand. As his fingers opened uncurled, they revealed what was one of the biggest diamonds Claudia had ever seen, a rock big enough to make the Crown Jewels feel a little self-conscious. "We looked around, and the only thing out of place was this," he answered. "All the rest of her jewelry was cheap – gold plated or fake. This, however, was on the kitchen table."

Slowly, the team-lead reached out and took it from the younger man. He stared at it in silence, his face unreadable, until Myka finally spoke.

"Artie? What is it?"

The grizzled man gazed at the stone, rolling it between his weathered fingers.

"Bad news."

* * *

When Helena's escort ushered her into the jet's hangar and left her there, it was readily apparent that what was a heated meeting had begun without her. The worry on the faces of those seated at the long table made no effort to disguise itself, and their bodies, all covered in odd, skin-tight clothing save Arthur (thankfully), emanated tension. The Brit silently shuffled forward at a leisurely rate, in no great hurry to be noticed for knowledge that her presence might curb their tongues.

"So, they were real?" Peter questioned. "Not just the monsters under the bed that the dorm leaders would tell us wee little mutants about so that we wouldn't get up for midnight snacks? And, these guys are turning people into puddles?"

Ms. Bering's fingers thrummed against the tabletop. "They are a historically documented group, Pete. We don't have much - nothing after the turn of the 20th century, but they existed."

"Even so, aren't we being a little over enthusiastic here? The lady has one diamond and that makes us pointing fingers at the evil cult of the Illuminati? C'mon Artie, that's a little off-the-rocker, even for us," Claudia pointed out.

Helena could only see half the older man's face as he winced, but the guilt coloring his slightly wrinkled features was clear. "We didn't find just one diamond," he answered grudgingly.

"What?"

"There was another at the first victim's house," he admitted.

"So you suspected this and didn't mention it?" Myka asked instantly, her tone both incredulous and accusing. "You let us go in blind!?"

That the brunette would question her superior in such a tone stirred a wave of mild surprise in Helena; in their few encounters, the Brit had quickly placed Ms. Bering as the sort to put complete stock in the structured rules, in chains of command.

"Like Claudia just pointed out, it could've been coincidence," Arthur explained, voice rough and defensive as he held his ground. "We didn't think it wise to jump to conclusions and get the team worried over nothing. You were told what you needed to know."

His explanation wasn't enough for the woman, who had since risen from her seat. She leaned over the table, jabbing the surface with a long index finger to accent her words. "We're responsible for each other's back down there, and you couldn't mention the fact that the infamous cult behind a century's worth of mutant genocide was possibly down there, because it _might_ have been 'nothing?'"

Something twisted in Helena's stomach as she tried to bite down a sudden wave of anxiety.

Myka continued. "Secrets are what get people killed in the field, Artie! I should know. You think this was nothing? Tell that to the two victims we've found. It's pretty clear that the return of the Brotherhood of the Black Diamond isn't 'nothing.'"

The Brit's blood ran cold. Her throat went tight. She heard herself stumble, the sound of her shoes scuffing the pavement rhythmlessly, rather than felt it. They were there, ghosts of sensations flashing before her eyes – men with long knives, the bodies, the ache of several years' spent in endless, lonely toil. Christina playing in th-

"HG? Are you okay?"

Young Ms. Donovan's voice cut through the onslaught of memory. Helena's eyes snapped to the red-head's questioning expression for a silent moment before realizing the group was awaiting her answer.

"Yes. Yes, of course," the Victorian spoke hastily, ignoring the odd expression that sprouted on Mr. Jinx's face as the words left her. "I was told my presence was requested."

A twinge of relief bubbled inside her chest as the many pairs of questioning eyes moved to Arthur.

"Mrs. Fredric," he began, "believes Ms. Wells could provide valuable insight into this case and into dealings with." The man rubbed the back of his neck, clearly uncomfortable with the invitation he was extending. "She requested Ms. Wells join us as a field agent, at least until the issue is resolved. That is," he amended, turning to face Helena, "if you're willing."

She didn't need to think twice… or at all, though it did strike her as momentarily curious that the headmistress could know so much about her past. "Yes. If this is a matter of the Diamond, you needn't ask."

"Hold your horses for one second." Pete's gaze darted between her and Arthur. "No offence HG, but Artie, are you sure this is a good idea? She has no field preparation - no combat training. She could get hurt. Are you sure she can't stay here, where it's safe? I mean, HG, what have you got that we need to take you along and put you in danger?"

She knew that he meant well. Some women would've loved him for his concern, would've thanked him for what they'd call chivalrous protection. More than some in her own original time period, but she was certain that even in this futuristic age, some women would've agreed with his worries and been all the more grateful to sit on the bench.

Helena looked at him blankly.

"I hunted them to extinction."

* * *

_AN: Short one this week, my apologies. Though, curiosity begs I ask, is it preferable that I do two 2000-word length updates a week, or one twice that size? There are no real promises coming of this, just inquiry :P_

_Your reviews are always well loved. I hope the remainder of your Sunday (or Monday in some parts of the world!) treats you well!_


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